Chapter 12 #2
He continued. “Then, the War of Division. Elves turned blade and spell upon their own. We kept to our valleys, took no sides, or tried no’ to.
But fear makes liars of old friendships.
” His jaw tightened. “They didnae strike our throats. They struck at our blood. One spell to silence our daughters, to unmake our mothers. After that, there were only sons.”
He glanced at Aeryn.
“In the end, they left us little choice. The spell took root quickly, and every orc clan found their daughters dwindlin’. It was as if the world itself had turned against us. We fled, Serathen wi’ us. We crossed the eastern sea and found this mountain. Beinn Ork.”
Aeryn’s gaze climbed to the sphere in Serathen’s raised hand. At first, it seemed no more than light captured in stone. Then, she noticed the faint spider webbing across its surface.
Her eyes narrowed. She knew that pattern. She’d traced those same hairline veins on the memory orbs beneath Béalimhe, felt the faint thrum against her fingertips when a keeper awakened one to stir the memories within.
“That orb… it looks elven,” Aeryn said.
Khaeric’s brow furrowed as he studied the sphere. “It’s a stone,” he said. “A fine one, but no finer than any in the mountain. Every Founder’s likeness bears some jewel.”
She shook her head. “It’s more than that. See the lines?” She traced the pattern in the air between them. “Memory orbs are made the same way. The glass is cut from the inside, then fused again so the surface appears unbroken. You can see the memories if you awaken it.”
Khaeric hesitated, following her gesture. “Could it still hold the memory?”
“If it does, it’s dormant.” Aeryn studied the orb, measuring its size, its luster, and the subtle distortion of light through the outer shell. The Council’s orbs pulsed with latent magic, yet this one gave nothing away.
“The Hall of Memory has vaults layered with them. There are hundreds of thousands. If Serathan brought one across the sea, why would she—” The question evaporated. The answer was already before her, carved into stone with deliberate precision.
“Can I…” she hesitated. “Khaeric, could you—” She gestured toward the sphere.
He blinked, surprised. “Ye want the Founder’s sphere?”
“I want to know if it’s what I think it is. Please.” Her voice thinned despite her efforts to keep it steady. “I need to see it up close. To… to wake it.”
Khaeric’s mouth pressed into a line. For a breath, Aeryn thought he’d refuse. Then, he reached up, his fingers closing around the orb, and with a careful turn, it shifted beneath his grip.
When her fingers closed around the sphere, a current tingled through her skin.
Aeryn inhaled slowly and called the ritual from memory: palms cupped in supplication, index and middle fingers aligned along the sphere’s axis, thumb poised at what would be, on the council’s orbs, the point of entry.
A flicker ignited behind her eyes. Gold light. Wind in hair that wasn’t hers. Aeryn pressed harder, focusing on the thrum at the base of her skull, willing it to open, to do what memory orbs always did: replay the past.
However, no vision burst from it. No voice. Nothing.
“It’s dormant.” Aeryn lowered the orb with a measured exhale and met Khaeric’s eyes. He hadn’t moved, watching her with that quiet, wary patience.
“I want to go to Thiarra.” Aeryn rolled the orb between her hands. “The Hall of Memories has amplifiers, crystals embedded in the foundation. Singing Stones, we call them. They can coax echoes from even a sealed orb.”
Khaeric’s hand squeezed her shoulder. “If it matters to ye, then we’ll do it.” He paused. “Ye ken they might no’ let me set foot on Thiarra, aye? No orcs have been welcome there.”
“Then, it’s fortunate you wouldn’t be classed as an outsider. Technically.”
Khaeric’s brow furrowed. “Explain.”
“My mother’s name is on the Isles’ registry.
By that right, so is mine.” She held his gaze.
“And under their own statutes, a spouse is appended to the household roll. Our marriage was formalized under a treaty. Signed, sealed, and witnessed by both crowns. That means under elven law, you, Clanlord Khaeric of Clan Druin, should have been entered into the registry by name.”
“Ye’d force their hand to recognize an orc,” Khaeric said, his mouth quirking.
She shrugged. “Elven law values appearances above contradiction. My aunt would rather swallow her own tongue than let the registry contradict itself.” Her thumb traced along the sphere.
“Ye really want to see what’s inside, dinnae ye?” His voice was gentle. “The truth of her?”
“I need to know if she was real,” Aeryn said. “If the Council pruned the branch. If they erased Serathen… there could be more, entire generations cut from history. Maybe even proof of what happened to your people…”
Without hesitation, Khaeric’s hand closed over hers, enclosing the orb between their palms. “We leave in three weeks,” he said. “I’ll see it arranged.”
Three weeks passed. Mael drilled her through declensions and clan-law; Khaeric moved between meetings, securing their travel.
Letters arrived and departed by discreet runners, but none bore her father’s seal or Lareth’s.
When she wasn’t studying with Mael, she spent hours bent over the dormant orb, tracing its etched seams as if persistence alone might wake it.
The fourth time Khaeric woke to find their bed empty, he rose and walked to the table. Aeryn sat hunched there, the memory orb cradled in her palms.
“Aeryn.”
She didn’t look up. Her thumb moved along the same groove she’d traced for hours.
“It’s past midnight.” Khaeric moved closer. “How long have ye been awake?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” Aeryn’s fingers tightened around the sphere. “I can feel something, Khaeric. Like it’s trying to respond but can’t quite…” She looked up, squinting through her exhaustion. “I should have studied memory magic more. Like Elowen.”
Khaeric knelt beside her chair. “Ye said it was dormant.”
She set the orb down. “I know it’s dormant. I know.” She pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes.
“Ye need rest, lass.” His fingers hovered just above hers. “Ye said yerself the Singin’ Stones would do what ye cannae.” His voice softened. “Come back to bed.”
She shook her head, though the movement sent a dull ache radiating from her temples. “A little longer. I almost had something. I felt it respond when I—”
“No,” he said gently. “Ye’ve said that every night this week.”
Her eyes stung, her muscles aching from hours hunched over the table. She’d been so certain this time. “A bit more,” she bargained, though a yawn betrayed her.
In one smooth movement, Khaeric scooped her into his arms before she could protest. The world tilted as he gathered her against his chest.
“Khaeric!” Aeryn gasped, instinctively looping her arms around his neck. “I wasn’t finished—”
“Aye, ye were,” he said, his voice rumbling. “Ye’ve been finished a long time ago. Yer eyes can barely stay open.”
She’d slept until midday. When she woke, Khaeric was gone, and a tray of food waited beside her. The rest had restored her body, but not her patience. The memory orb remained on the table, silent and unyielding as stone.
Tomorrow they would leave for Thiarra. With a sigh, Aeryn placed the orb into the padded leather pouch Khaeric had commissioned for their journey. The craftsman had lined it with soft wool and secured it with a tight drawstring, sturdy enough to keep the artifact secure during travel.
“Are ye packin’ that away?”
Khaeric’s voice came from the doorway. He leaned against the frame, arms folded, regarding her with a blend of exasperation and relief. “I was beginnin’ to think ye’d forgotten how.”
“I didn’t forget,” Aeryn said, offering him a tired but genuine smile. “Besides, you’ve made it abundantly clear I should focus on preparing for the journey.”
He crossed the room to her and rested a broad hand on her shoulder. “Ye’ve not slept properly in days. I worry.”
“I know.” She covered his hand with hers.
“Come for a walk wi’ me.” His expression softened.
“A walk? Now?” Aeryn tilted her head. “I still have preparations to finish before—”
“The packin’ can wait.” He pulled her to her feet. “Ye’ve been cooped up behind stone walls long enough.”
“Fine,” she relented with a small smile. “You’re right. I could use the air.”
They moved through the corridors in companionable silence, his hand resting lightly at the small of her back.
Evening had thinned the traffic. Most had retreated to family quarters or gathering spaces.
They had nearly reached the upper passage when the steady rhythm of boots on stone cut through the calm.
“Found somethin’ ye’ll want to see.” Garran stepped from the shadows, flanked by two scouts. His tone was flat, edged with irritation. Slung over his shoulder was a limp figure wrapped in a mud-streaked cloak, torn gloves, hair matted with blood and mud.
Khaeric’s brows drew together. “Who is it?”
Garran exhaled through his nose. “Some fool tryin’ to climb the lower south face alone. Fought like a wasp when we hauled her down.” He shifted the weight on his shoulder before looking at Aeryn. “Didnae take long to realize she’s one of yers.”
Aeryn stared at him. “What do you mean, one of mine?”
“Smells near the same as ye. Close kin, I’d wager. Elf-blooded. Human softness all over her.”
“Caeryth?” The name tore from her. “No. No, that’s not—”
Caeryth’s cloak hung shredded and bloodied. One arm dangled limp, her hand cut and filthy. A gash split her temple, dark against pale hair, while her legs bore scratches where stone had torn through her skirt.
“She’s bleeding—why are you just standing there?”
Garran shot Khaeric a look over her head, something between exasperation and restraint. “She’s breathin’, and I’m holdin’ her steady. She’ll reach the healer faster if ye stop screamin’ in my ear.”
“Then move. Now.” Aeryn’s voice cut through the corridor. “Take her to the healer’s chamber.”